


Love Leads the Way

by adrianna_m_scovill



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Declarations Of Love, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:14:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26459302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrianna_m_scovill/pseuds/adrianna_m_scovill
Summary: Benson loses her sight after a head injury, and Barba - fresh from Iowa - moves into her apartment to help her cope with her new limitations.
Relationships: Rafael Barba/Olivia Benson
Comments: 19
Kudos: 135
Collections: Happy birthday Michelle!





	Love Leads the Way

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, I started this fic like two years ago and still couldn't manage to finish it by tonight, so I'll write a second chapter some day - maybe by Christmas!? Also, the title came from a Disney film that traumatized me as a child, the true story of the first seeing eye dog. Sort of an inside joke since I forced the recipient of this fic to watch the end of that film, just to share the misery. Anyway, happy birthday, Michelle ;)

Benson woke with a start, the sound of the explosion ringing in her ears, her heart slamming in her chest. She felt the bed beneath her, but it took a few frantic moments before she remembered where she was. She blinked her eyes several times; there was nothing but darkness. She lifted a hand to her face, felt the flutter of her eyelashes against her fingers to assure herself that her eyes were open.

She didn’t know if it was night or day. She knew that a dozen fluorescents could be shining down on her and the most she might see would be the faint play of light and shadow.

_ There’s no reason to believe your sight won’t return, most likely within a matter of days. The best thing you can do is stay calm, keep your heartrate level—don’t overexert yourself—and have faith that your body will heal itself. _

_ Stay calm _ , she thought, but that was easier said than done. Her heart was still stampeding in her chest. What if her sight  _ didn’t _ come back? Her career would be over. How would she take care of Noah if she couldn’t work? What would she do? She swallowed against the sting of bile and tried to calm herself by focusing on her surroundings. 

There was someone else in the room. She couldn’t be certain how she knew. The awareness was like a prickle across her skin, like some electric current in the air. She heard the faintest rustle of clothing, a small puff of air being released. 

“Rafael?” she asked, the name slipping past her lips before she’d thought about it. She had a moment of doubt—it could be  _ anyone _ , and almost anyone would be more likely. There was no reason to expect him—

“That’s impressive,” he answered quietly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to…How’re you feeling?”

“Like I got blown up,” she said, and she heard him breathe out in something close to a laugh. His mood was somber; she didn’t have to see him to know it. She could hear it in the softness of his voice, could feel it in the air around her. “What time is it?”

“It’s late,” he said. “Almost ten.”

“PM?”

“Mmhm.”

“Who’d you threaten to let you in here?”

His laugh was a little more genuine this time. “I used good old-fashioned charm, believe it or not.”

“Hm. I believe it,” she said quietly. She settled back against her pillow, trying to ignore the dull thud of her headache. Her body was full of pains, her stomach full of acid. “If you’re here, it must be worse than they said.”

“No,” he said, and she could hear him moving closer to the bed. “You’re going to be fine, Liv.”

“So you got on a plane during a global pandemic because you were just tired of fields, right?”

“You know I missed the city. Thanks for giving me an excuse.”

“Any time,” she said. She could smell him. Her subconscious must’ve recognized the faint scent of his cologne. 

She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed it.

“Wait, shouldn’t you be in quarantine?” she asked as her brain started to catch up to the world. Then, before he could answer: “Where’s Noah? Is he still with Amanda?”

“He is. You’ve been in and out but they’re hoping to send you home in the morning if you’re up to it.”

“They need the room.”

“Yes.”

“I can’t see.”

“You’ll need help,” he agreed.

He was close to the bed. She knew if she reached out, her hand would find him. She stared into the blackness as her tired brain pieced together what he was saying. “I’ll have to quarantine. Noah will have to stay with Amanda in case I’ve been exposed.”

“Yes. But you can FaceTime—”

“Did you volunteer to take care of me?”

There was a long pause before he answered. “I offered to help you until you get your sight back.”

“That’s why they let you in here.” She considered. “I guess I don’t have anyone else.” She already missed Noah. He hadn’t been allowed to visit her in the hospital, and she was grateful for all the people looking out for him. His health and safety were the most important. And what about Barba’s health? If he got sick because he’d braved a flight just to take care of her—

“Actually, everyone was willing to rearrange everything to help you out. It just so happens I won the privilege.”

She appreciated the forced cheerfulness in his voice for what it was meant to be, but the fear and hopelessness were pushing in on her, threatening to suffocate her. “This sucks, Rafael,” she said, not bothering to hide the rasp of emotion in her voice. 

“You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known.”

She felt the burn of tears and blinked them onto her cheeks. It was disconcerting to feel the tears but not see the blur. “What if I never…” She trailed off, not wanting to voice the fear aloud.

“No matter what happens, you can handle it.” He paused. “But you’re going to be as good as new in no time,” he added.

“Tell me the truth. How do I look?”

“You look…like you’re lucky to be alive,” he said, and she could hear the emotion in his voice, too. She reached out automatically, fumbling a hand toward the edge of the bed, and he grabbed it without hesitation. Like he’d been waiting for the invitation. “I don’t know what to say, Liv. I know that everything is just…shit right now.”

She laughed, sniffling wetly. “The world’s on lockdown, I can’t be with my son, my memory’s spotty and I might never see again. My career might be over.”

“On the plus side, you get to enjoy my company.”

Her smile felt more genuine when she answered, “That is a plus.”

“You should go back to sleep, I didn’t mean to wake you. We’ll get out of here in the morning so you can start to get better at home.”

“Are you leaving?” she asked when he started to pull his hand away. The note of panic in her voice was accidental, and she swallowed hard to keep the following plea from bubbling out of her throat. 

He hesitated. “I don’t really have anywhere to go,” he finally admitted. “I sublet my apartment, I can’t risk being around my mother, everything in the city is—”

“You can go to my place,” she offered. “You’ll be staying there anyway. Take your luggage…I don’t know where my keys are but they must have my stuff somewhere…”

“It’s sort of tough to get in and out of here right now. I, um. Thought I might just…sleep in the chair, here. If that won’t bother you?”

“No,” she said too quickly. “Of course, stay if you want, it’s late, you must be tired.” She considered asking him to share the bed; she wanted to curl up against him and pretend everything would be alright. But she didn’t want to make him uncomfortable, so she would have to take solace from the knowledge that he would be nearby, at least. She forced herself to let go of his hand. “Thanks for coming.”

“Of course.” He seemed about to say something else, and she wished bitterly that she could see his face. She heard the rustle of his clothes, felt the air shift as he bent over her. His hand was light against her hair, and his lips were gentle as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Rest, Liv. You’ll get through this, I promise. And I’ll be right over here if you need anything.”

She nodded and squeezed her eyes shut, feeling fresh tears spill down her cheeks. 

* * *

“I feel pathetic.”

“You’re not pathetic,” Barba assured her. He had a hand at the small of her back and he was pressed up close against her side. He tried not to jostle her; he knew she was covered in bruises and scrapes, and her whole body must be sore. “We’re almost there, about ten more steps,” he added, eying the door of her apartment ahead. 

She mumbled something, but the words were lost behind the mask covering the lower half of her face. Barba looked at her. Her eyes were open but staring sightlessly ahead. She had a scrape across her forehead that looked red and inflamed against her pale skin. Her hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail, but loose tendrils were hanging around her face.

Barba couldn’t think about how close she’d come to losing her life. “What?” he asked from behind his own mask.

“Do you think I should try hitting my head again?”

“I think that only works in movies. Okay, we’re at your door.” He fished her keys out of his pocket and unlocked the door, glancing sideways at her. He was unaccountably nervous. He didn’t regret volunteering to stay with her while he needed help, but he had to wonder if she wouldn’t be better off with someone else. 

He pushed the door open and led her inside, taking her purse to hang on the coatrack. “I should know this room like the back of my hand,” she said, standing unmoving just inside the doorway. “But it’s like Picasso in my head, I can’t…” She trailed off, and he could feel her frustration and fear. 

“I doubt I could pick the back of my hand out of a lineup,” Barba said, and he was relieved to see a small smile tip the corners of her mouth. “Do you want to sit on the sofa? I need to go get the bags, but I can—”

“Go, I’m fine.”

He hesitated. His hand was hovering near her elbow even though there was nothing immediately in front of her. “Are you sure? I can help you—”

“I need to learn,” she said. “Go before the driver decides your stuff is worth more than the fare.”

He didn’t want to leave her alone, and especially not standing there, but he couldn’t force her to accept his help. “Okay,” he said uncertainly. “I’ll be right back, then?”

She nodded, turning away from him to shuffle slowly toward the living room. He stood watching, his stomach full of knots. “Go, Barba,” she said after a few seconds.

He forced himself to leave, closing the door behind himself and striding quickly through the building and out to the waiting car to fetch his luggage and Benson’s bag of belongings. He tipped the driver and hurried back to the apartment, reminding himself there was no reason to be so worried. She was in her own apartment, and he knew she was more than capable of taking care of herself.

When he let himself back into the apartment, she was nowhere in sight and his heart jumped into his throat. He took a deep breath to rid his voice of any tremor before calling her name as casually as he could. 

“Yeah,” she answered, her muffled voice reaching him from the bathroom.

He shook his head at his own ridiculousness and stripped off his facemask as he closed and locked the door. He put his bags against the wall, out of the way, and looked around. He’d been in her apartment countless times, but not in nearly two years. He could see the marks of Noah’s age in the changes, and he felt a pang of regret for all the time he’d lost with the kid; with both of them. 

“Are you hungry?” he called. “Do you want me to fix something?” It was a little late for breakfast and a little early for lunch, but neither of them had eaten before leaving the hospital. He’d had nothing but a cup of disgusting black coffee, and she’d only had water. 

There was no immediate answer from the bathroom and he walked cautiously in that direction. “Sure, thanks,” she finally answered. She’d taken a few moments, but he knew immediately that she was crying. 

Barba lowered his chin and closed his eyes, exhaling. He felt helpless. He wanted to take away her pain and fear, but there was nothing he could do. Nothing but fix her something to eat and offer her words of encouragement, and have faith that she was strong enough to overcome any obstacle.

* * *

“Rafa?”

Barba turned away from the stove, where he was scrambling eggs, to see Benson just outside the bathroom door with one hand on the jamb. She was holding her other hand out in front of her, and he’d already started walking before he noticed the plastic bottle she was holding. “Yeah, right here,” he said as he crossed toward her. 

She blinked, her face turning a bit more in his direction. “Is this Tylenol?”

“No, it’s aspirin. Do you need Tylenol? I’ll get it.”

“Thanks,” she muttered as he took the aspirin from her fingers. 

“Are you alright? Does your head hurt?” he asked, not commenting on the red puffiness around her eyes, or the splotches on her cheeks. If she’d wanted him to know she was crying, she wouldn’t have hidden herself in the bathroom to do it. 

“Everything hurts,” she admitted. “But nothing I can’t handle.”

“Of course,” he agreed, stepping into the bathroom to switch the aspirin for the Tylenol. “How many of these do you want?”

“Three. Please.”

He shook three pills into his hand, returned the bottle to the cupboard with a mental note to figure out a way to organize them for her, and went back to her side. “Here you go,” he said, and she held up her hand, bumping her fingers against his stomach. He cupped his hand beneath hers and set the capsules in her palm. “I’ll get you some water,” he added. “I made eggs, I hope that’s alright?”

“I’m not…Okay, thank you,” she said, following his lead when he carefully took her elbow and started walking her toward the table. “I need to talk to Noah. How bad do I look?”

“Do you want an honest answer to that?” he asked. He was relieved when she smiled. “The chair is right here in front of you.”

“You know what I mean,” she said, feeling with her free hand until she found the back of the chair. She turned and sank carefully into the seat, feeling unsure of herself but confident that Barba wouldn’t let her tumble to the floor. Once she was seated he scooted her closer to the table. “Should I call him?”

“You’ve got some scrapes and bruises but nothing that should be too traumatizing. It might be good for him to see you, actually, the imagination can be a scary thing.”

“You’re probably right.” She heard him filling a glass at the sink. 

“I’m always right,” he said, and she smiled again. 

“Since you’re here helping me, I won’t point out all the times you’ve been wrong.”

“I dare you to try it,” he answered. She heard the soft clunk of the glass against the table. “Water, an inch to the right of your right hand.”

“What happens if I take that dare?” she asked, feeling carefully until her fingers were wrapped around the cool glass. “You leave me here to bump into walls like a Roomba?” She kept her tone light, because she knew there wasn’t a chance he would abandon her. 

He chuckled at the imagery. “Of course not. I’ll just smugly say ‘I told you so’ when you come up blank.”

“I’ve really missed that ego of yours, Barba.”

“I think you mean confidence.”

“That’s not what Captain Harris called it.”

“No wonder you didn’t like me.”

“You’re taking no responsibility there?”

He laughed again. “None.”

She swallowed the pills with a mouthful of water and set the glass on the table. She could feel him hovering nearby. She knew he must be aware of the tears she’d shed in the privacy of the bathroom, but he’d made no comment. Barba was good at respecting boundaries, and she was suddenly overwhelmed by her gratitude for his presence. She didn’t want him to see her so helpless, and she didn’t want to  _ feel _ so helpless, but knowing he was nearby was a comfort. 

“You won me over quickly enough,” she said, and she heard his soft snort. “Besides, you didn’t like me at first, either.”

“On the contrary,” he said. She knew by the sound of his voice that he’d turned away, and he must be headed back into the kitchen when he added, “Why do you think I was such an asshole?”

“That’s some misogynistic schoolyard logic.”

He laughed, but she thought there was an undertone of discomfort in the sound. “You can take the boy out of the South Bronx, but you can’t—”

“Although I certainly didn’t make your job any easier. No wonder you vented to your mother about me.”

His silence stretched out while she heard him scraping a spatula against the skillet. The toaster popped, and she heard the soft scratch of him buttering the toast. “A cop who cared about victims and was willing to fight tirelessly for justice?” he finally said. “Making my job easier wasn’t your job, but you doing yours was exactly what I always needed to do mine.” He walked to the table and slid a plate next to her hand. “The eggs are hot,” he said, nudging the fork closer until her fingers found it. “Juice?”

“Please.”

“It’s the only thing I miss, really,” he added as he walked to the refrigerator.

“That and winning cases,” she teased.

“I still win,” he shot back with exaggerated haughtiness, and she smiled as she poked her fork blindly at the scrambled eggs. 

“Of course you do.”

“Toast is on the far side of the plate, sorry,” he said. “Need anything else?” he asked as he replaced her glass of water with one of juice.

“No. Thank you.” She heard him settle himself across the table from her with his own plate and glass. No, not glass. Mug. She realized she could smell coffee. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something but I’m a little afraid of the answer.”

“Hmm. Well, ask away and I’ll do my best to cushion the blow.”

“Do you still have the beard?”

He cleared his throat, quietly. “I regret to inform you…” He paused, presumably to  _ cushion the blow _ . 

She heard the buzz of his phone and the rustle as he pulled it from his pocket. “Convenient.”

“It’s Rollins.” He answered the phone before she could say anything else, but her heart had already stumbled at the thought that something might be wrong. “No, I’m sorry, that’s my fault,” he was saying. “I think her phone is in her purse, we were going to call as soon as she had breakfast—Yeah, sure, put him on.” There was another pause, and Benson started to get control of her anxiety as she figured out what was happening. “Hey, buddy,” Barba said with enviable cheerfulness that, to his credit, sounded convincing enough for a child. “Your mom was just about to call you, can you believe I misplaced her phone? I know, I know, I’m getting forgetful in my old age.”

Benson heard her son’s giggle through the phone and the sound soothed some of the tension she hadn’t even been aware of carrying. 

“Just a second. Liv, here’s the phone,” Barba said quietly, and she held out her hand. As she raised the cell to her ear, she heard Barba leave the table, heard his footsteps cross the floor, and she knew he was going to find her phone. 

“Hey, honey,” she said, and Noah’s excited voice filled her ear. She listened to her son for the next several minutes, occasionally jumping in to reassure him—again—that she was fine and that he would be able to come home as soon as the two-week quarantine period had passed. She told him that her sight would return, filling the words with far more conviction than she felt.

After she’d said goodbye, she tapped her thumb on the screen where she thought the disconnect button should be, and then held the phone toward Barba. She knew he was back in his seat at the table, and his fingers brushed hers as he took the phone.

“I don’t know if I got that hung up.”

“You did,” he said. “And your cell’s here on the table now, sorry about that. They tried to call a couple of times. You have a few other missed calls, do you want me to read them?”

“Sure.” She poked at the eggs, now probably cold. She tried not to think about the assurances she’d given her son, and what would happen to their lives if she couldn’t keep those promises. 

Barba read the calls, but there was nothing important enough for her to return right away. “Do you want me to heat the food?” he asked.

“No, it’s fine.” She got a forkful of eggs—she hoped—and carefully raised it toward her face, cupping her other hand beneath as a guide. She found her mouth without incident and was relieved that the fork wasn’t empty. She chewed and swallowed, and her stomach grumbled in response. Maybe she was hungrier than she’d realized. “I’d be a lot more self-conscious about you watching me if I could see your face,” she remarked.

“Sorry. Do you want me to go somewhere else?”

“No. Thank you for making breakfast and…you know. Being here.”

“Of course.” He hesitated. She wondered if she’d ever been so consciously aware of people’s pauses and inflections before, wondered if it was instinctive or something she’d picked up during decades of interviews and interrogations. She supposed maybe it was both. “You didn’t lie, Liv. The doctor said the blindness is temporary—”

“ _ Most likely _ .”

“—and you’ll probably be fine in—”

“I don’t need false optimism from you, Barba,” she cut in. “Not  _ you _ . You’re the pragmatist, here.”

“When you get your idealism back, I’ll get back to pragmatism,” he said, and she smiled in spite of herself. “Besides, I would never try to feed you bullshit, you’d just throw it back in my face.”

“Well, that’s true.”

“First rule of being a lawyer, know when you’re outmatched.”

“You just made that up. Besides, when have you ever admitted to being outmatched?”

“I’ve never been.”

“Before.”

“Right. I’ve never been, before,” he agreed.

“You’re lucky I can’t see the shit-eating grin on your face right now.”

She heard the amusement in his voice when he answered, “But you know it’s true.”

“I’d say  _ evenly _ matched, at least in stubbornness,” she said, and he laughed quietly. “Aside from that, let’s say we each have our strengths and weaknesses.”

“Sure. But my weakness was always you.” She felt the silence that followed his words, felt the heaviness that came from saying something he hadn’t really meant to say. He cleared his throat. “In a good way,” he added awkwardly. “Are you sure you don’t want me to reheat that?”

“No, it’s good,” she said, concentrating on raising another forkful of eggs to her mouth. She wished she could see his face, read his expression. She wanted to know if it was regret or simply embarrassment rendering him mute as they both ate their breakfast. “I’d like to take a shower and go to bed for a while,” she said after what felt like a long time. Their silences had never been awkward, and their current situation was difficult enough without adding any additional strain. “I’m sure you want to get cleaned up, too. There are clean towels on the shelf, and help yourself to anything you need. You probably have a toothbrush, but if not there’s—”

“I do. Thank you. Do you need…Uh, what do you want me to do?”

“You want to help me shower?”

“I, uhm…”

“I’m kidding,” she said, and she heard his soft exhalation. “Sorry,” she said, unable to keep from grinning as she imagined his expression.

“Want me to take a picture so you can see the look on my face later?”

“Thank you, but I think I can imagine it well enough,” she said, laughing when he sighed loudly for her benefit. “But if you could get me some clean clothes out of my dresser? Sweats or something.”

“Dress you like a clown as payback.”

“You’re the only one who’ll see me, it hardly seems worth it.”

“I’ll send a picture to Noah, he’ll appreciate it. T-shirt? Sweatshirt? Never mind, I’ll get both and you can decide.”

“Thanks.” She set her fork on the plate. She had no idea how much, if any, food was left. She’d eaten her toast, but she wasn’t about to feel around on the plate for stray eggs. 

“Finger food next time,” he announced, and she felt the rush of air past her as he took her plate and headed toward the kitchen. She found her glass and finished her juice. The Tylenol—perhaps with the help of some real food—had dulled the edges of her headache. All she wanted was a hot shower and to slip into bed. 

Maybe the next time she opened her eyes, she would see more than darkness. 

She got to her feet, wincing at the pulls in her muscles. She took a moment to get her bearings.

“Do you want me to—”

“I can get there.”

After a long pause, he said, “Alright. I’ll grab you some clothes, then.”

* * *

Barba could hear her making her way cautiously toward the bathroom, could hear the hesitation in her soft, shuffling steps when her hand found the wall before she worked along to the open doorway.

He didn’t have trouble figuring out the system of her dresser. Pants in the bottom drawer, shirts in the middle, socks, bras, and underwear in the top. He grabbed her a pair of flannel pajama bottoms, a faded NYPD t-shirt, and a plain gray sweatshirt before eying the top drawer and hesitating. 

With a flash of annoyance directed at himself, he pulled the drawer open and grabbed a rolled pair of socks. The variety of underwear gave him pause, again. He felt a flush creeping up out of his collar as he surveyed the mixture of silk and lace. It took him an uncomfortable moment to realize that the plain cotton panties were folded beneath the fancier things, and he shoved a hand into the garments with a recklessness borne of discomfort and guilt. He grabbed cotton and tugged.

Something, tangled in the underwear, slipped free and dropped with a heavy thunk against the wooden drawer. Barba saw a dark cylinder, and his first thought was that it was a gun. He dismissed the idea almost immediately, though. Benson would never keep a gun unlocked and unattended in her dresser, not with Noah around. 

When he realized what he was seeing, heat rushed into his face and he pushed the drawer closed. He stood there for several seconds, cheeks flaming, cursing himself. He shook his head, refusing to let the images take hold in his brain. He had no right to be thinking about her, about it—

He pulled the drawer back open and rearranged the underwear, making sure the vibrator was once more hidden beneath. Then he grabbed the plainest bra he could see—she probably wouldn’t want it, but just in case—and pushed the drawer shut again.

He walked to the bathroom, thankful she couldn’t see the stain in his cheeks. He cleared his throat quietly as he neared the door so he wouldn’t scare her, and she turned toward him. She was pale, and clearly exhausted. She’d turned on the light—out of habit more than anything, he guessed.

“I’ll put the clothes on the edge of the counter, here,” he said. “Do you need anything else?”

She held up her hands and he realized she was holding two toothbrushes. She’d been comparing the sizes, and raised one higher than the other. “Is this red?” she asked.

“Yes. Here, I’ll put Noah’s in the drawer so it’s not confusing. I’ll put mine in there, too, when I’m done.”

“Thanks, I…think I can manage everything else.”

“Sure. Just yell if you need me.”

“Thanks.” He started to turn away, but she stopped him with: “Rafael?”

“Hm?” 

“Can I…” She reached out a hesitant hand and her fingers brushed the front of his shirt. “Can I just—”

He stepped closer automatically and she leaned into him, wrapping her arms around him and pressing her face against his shoulder. She drew a deep, shaky breath as his arms circled her, and he kissed her hair without pausing to consider. “You’re safe,” he said. It was the only thing he could think to say.

“I’m glad you wear the same cologne,” she murmured against his shirt. “It’s…comforting.”

He was touched by that, more than he cared to admit. “I’m too old to change now,” he answered. “But I’ll get you a bottle, if you want.”

“No,” she said. Her embrace tightened for a few seconds before loosening. “It’s not just the cologne.” She drew another deep breath and stepped back, swiping an arm over her face. “Sorry, I’m okay. Thanks, I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

“Are you—Alright,” he said, stopping himself before asking if she was sure. “I’m going to FaceTime my mom, so don’t be alarmed if you hear voices.”

She nodded, and a few seconds later she heard him close the door as he left her alone. She stood in the darkness and turned her face toward the bright lights over the counter. She could feel their heat and she blinked her eyes, staring blindly in the direction of the mirror. She wanted to believe the shifting shadows weren’t just a figment of her imagination, but she had to be realistic. Wishful thinking would only lead to disappointment.

She sighed and reached out a hand, feeling for the clothes he’d brought her. She felt the bra and panties on top and hesitated. She knew she shouldn’t be surprised; Barba wasn’t a person who failed to consider every detail. Her stomach fluttered nervously as she thought of him rooting through her underwear drawer, though. 

She turned away from the clothes. It didn’t matter. They were both adults, and friends. If he’d found anything he shouldn’t, it wasn’t as if he would do anything inappropriate with the information. 

She felt the door to make sure it was closed before stripping out of her clothes and dropping them into the hamper. She found that the bathroom was easier for her to visualize—maybe because the room was smaller, or maybe because she’d had more time to adjust to the anxiousness simmering in her stomach—and she pushed aside the shower curtain and turned on the water without much difficulty. 

She sighed when she stepped into the hot spray; it was soothing against her skin, almost immediately beginning to ease some of her aches that the Tylenol hadn’t yet reached. She stood there for a long time, feeling the air fill with steam, before sighing again and tipping her head back into the water to wet her hair. 

Her scalp felt raw where she’d hit her head during the explosion, but she didn’t shy away from the burn of the water and the pain gradually subsided. Her hair was a tangled mess, and she knew it would take more than one washing to feel clean. She wasn’t looking forward to the sting but it would be worth it in the end when she could finally relax into her bed for a couple of hours. 

She visualized the ledge at the back of the tub, trying to remember where the shampoo and conditioner bottles were placed. She was pretty sure the latter was on the right, and she stepped forward to reach out.

Her foot came down on something hard—full of points and angles—and pain shot into the meat of her sole as she cried out in surprise. She tried to shift her weight but the object slid with a gritty scratching sound, yanking her leg out from beneath her. She grabbed for something, anything, and caught a handful of shower curtain as she fell. Her other foot slipped on the wet porcelain and she landed on her knee hard enough to send a jolt of pain up through her hip, and she mashed her lips together to keep from crying out again. 

The curtain rod broke free from the wall as she pulled the curtain down with her and she flinched at the loud clatter, instinctively throwing her arm over her head as she shrank away from the unseen, falling rod. It missed her, bouncing off the edge of the tub and hitting the floor, and the bathroom was suddenly plunged into silence except the sounds of the shower and Benson’s harsh breathing.

Then: “Olivia?”

“I’m fine,” she blurted automatically. She had no idea if it was true; pain was radiating out from her knee and she was tangled awkwardly in the bottom of the tub with the shower curtain twisted against her arm and her wet hair hanging over her face. But the last thing she needed was Barba rushing in and seeing her like that. 

“Liv, what—”

“I do  _ not _ want you to come in here.”

There was a long pause. “Of course, sure. But you’re alright?”

She shoved the plastic curtain aside and turned with a wince, dropping onto her ass in the bottom of the tub so she could take stock. The water was pounding down on her legs. She touched her knee gingerly; she was pretty sure it was only bruised. “I’m okay,” she said. She felt around with her foot until it bumped against the hard object, and she reached forward and picked it up. “Toy airplane,” she said after turning it around in her hands. “It was in the bathtub, I stepped on it.” She wasn’t entirely sure her foot wasn’t bleeding. 

“Jesus, I’m sorry,” he said. 

“It’s not your fault,” she answered absently, running a hand over the bottom of her foot. “I should’ve known.”

“I should’ve checked. Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I think I’m better than the shower curtain,” she muttered. “I’m just gonna finish up and I’ll be out in a few minutes, then you can check the damage.”

“To you or the bathroom?”

“Both.” She dropped the toy plane over the edge of the tub onto the collapsed shower curtain and carefully got to her feet. The bottom of her foot was tender and her knee protested her weight, but both supported her once she was upright. She put a hand against the wall and used her sore foot to make a quick sweep around the tub to make sure there were no other stray toys hiding anywhere. “Survive a bomb to break my neck in my own bathtub,” she muttered, swiping her wet hair back from her face. 

“Anything actually broken?”

“Only the curtain rod. Are you going to stand out there listening to me shower?”

“When you say it like that it sounds creepy.”

She smiled and turned to pick up the shampoo and conditioner bottles. She couldn’t visualize their placement for sure, but she did remember that the conditioner was fuller, so she weighed them in her hands for a moment. “I’ll be out in a few minutes,” she repeated. She could hear some of the water pattering lightly on the crumpled shower curtain; she hoped she wasn’t flooding the floor too badly, but it was really the least of her concerns. 

* * *

“You’re limping.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re going to hit the coffee table.”

She paused, considering, before sidestepping to her right and moving cautiously forward. He didn’t say anything else to stop her, so she kept walking until she found the sofa. She ran a hand over the cushion to make sure she wasn’t about to sit on anything that would further injure her. 

As she sank onto the couch, she heard Barba walk into the bathroom, heard the rustle of vinyl curtain. She’d shoved it aside to get out of the shower, propping the rod against the side of the tub so she wouldn’t trip over it and crack her skull open. 

She leaned back against the sofa with a soft sigh. She was exhausted even though it was probably still before noon. She was sore and only tenuously in control of her emotions. She wanted to go to sleep and wake to find everything back to normal—the return of her eyesight, the end of the pandemic that had closed down the city she loved and was currently keeping her from her son—

“It wasn’t broken off the wall, the rod just jumped out of the brace,” Barba said as he came out of the bathroom.

—and maybe she would find that Barba was home to stay in NYC, too. 

“Well that’s good, I guess. There’s a step stool in the cupboard under the sink if you need—”

“I put it back up already,” he said. The sofa dipped as he sat on the middle cushion. “How short do you think I am?”

“I just didn’t want you to strain anything.”

“How  _ old _ do you think I am? May I see your foot, please?”

“Don’t worry, you’ll always be younger than me,” she said, lifting her leg and turning to let him pull her ankle over his knee. “Ow,” she said, her toes curling instinctively as he ran a gentle thumb over the arch of her foot.

“Sorry. There’s a mark here but it didn’t break the skin.”

“It feels like a cramp, or like it’s about to cramp.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, and she could hear the real contrition in his voice. “I’d make a terrible parent.”

“Luckily you’re not my father,” she said. He was massaging the bottom of her foot, but carefully—the touch of his thumbs light, avoiding the most tender spot. “Besides. I haven’t tripped over a single toy in here. Did you clean up the living room?”

“Little bit. I don’t recommend walking into Noah’s room, though.”

“A gamble in the best of times,” she agreed with a smile. She leaned her head against the back of the sofa. “That feels nice,” she told him. “I think it’ll be fine, it’s not like I’ll be running any marathons. Or even leaving the apartment.”

“You need some nice fluffy slippers.”

“Hmm, well, my slippers have seen fluffier days but I’ll make do.”

“Did you hurt anything else?”

“Bruised my knee. Feels a little stiff.”

“May I?” he asked. His hand had settled at the cuff of her pants, waiting. 

“Sure. But it’s just a bruise.” She yawned as he slid her pantleg up past her knee. His other hand was cupped beneath her heel. 

“Mm,” he said, running a gentle thumb over her knee. There must already be a bruise starting, because he clearly knew exactly where it hurt. “Might want to put some ice on it.”

“I will when I wake up, if it’s worse,” she said, fighting the urge to yawn again. “Am I a terrible host if I go to bed and leave you to fend for yourself?”

“I think I can manage,” he answered. She could hear the smile in his voice. “As long as you don’t mind me wandering aimlessly around your apartment.”

“Why not, you’ve already been in my underwear drawer.” 

She wasn’t sure why she said it; she certainly didn’t  _ plan _ to say it. His hands stilled, and she’d heard his breath catch. He cleared his throat and she rushed ahead before he could form an unnecessary apology. 

“Thanks for that. For getting my clothes, I mean. And speaking of clothes, you can put your stuff in Noah’s room if you want. You can take his bed, too, if you don’t mind the rustle of the plastic mattress cover. Or here on the couch, whichever you prefer. Either way, feel free to use whatever you want.” She pulled her foot from his leg. “We can order something for dinner, if you want. Maybe a case of wine, get shit-faced.”

“If you’re going to be blind  _ and _ drunk, I reserve the right to bundle you up in bubble wrap first.” 

She smiled and reached out to pat his leg. Her hand landed a little higher on his thigh than she’d intended—he wasn’t sitting all the way back, apparently—but she said, “You would make a good parent, you know.” She got to her feet before he could answer. “Wake me up if you need me,” she added as she started cautiously toward the bedroom. She gave the coffee table a wider berth than necessary, and her toes didn’t find anything offensive as she made her way across the floor. 

“You’re walking better,” he commented.

“You made me feel better,” she returned, and it was true. His short, gentle massage had eased some of the ache in her foot. It still felt sore, but not on the verge of cramping.

“I’m glad,” he murmured, barely audible as she made her way into her bedroom. She closed the door with a soft click and walked toward the bed until her outstretched fingers brushed the edge of the mattress. She pulled the covers back and crawled into bed with a sigh.

She winced when her head pressed into the pillow, and she turned to her side to avoid the lump—and the gash that felt even rawer since being shampooed and conditioned—and immediately felt her body relaxing against the familiar softness. 

She was asleep in just a couple of minutes, and her exhausted body didn’t move as she floated in dreamless darkness for nearly three hours. She woke in the same position, her joints and muscles stiff, her thoughts fuzzy, her eyes still sightless, and she laid in bed for several minutes until the fear had retreated. 

Then she pushed herself up with a wince, stretched and yawned, and slipped out of bed. She found the doorknob on her first try and stepped out of the bedroom before pausing to listen. The still-unfamiliar darkness pushed in on her, and she felt the fear once more beginning to gnaw at her gut. She opened her mouth to call out for Barba but stopped herself before his name could leave her lips. She had to be able to fend for herself, especially in her own apartment. 

After a few moments she realized she could smell him; the scent was faint, just a ghost of cologne, but it was there. And, she could hear his soft snores. He was sleeping on the sofa.

His presence was like a balm for her nerves, and she drew a slow breath before starting toward the bathroom. Her foot felt bruised, but the pain was dull enough to blend in with the rest of her aches. 

When she stepped out of the bathroom a few minutes later she paused again to listen and take stock of the apartment. Tick of a clock, hum of the refrigerator. She could still hear him on the sofa, but he was no longer snoring. He was awake.

“I hate that I’m getting used to this already,” she said quietly.

“The human mind and body adapt quickly,” he answered. His voice was a little gravelly from sleep. 

“Great,” she said, making her way slowly toward the kitchen. She heard the creak of the sofa as he got up to follow her. “So in a few days I’ll be great at puttering around my apartment. Useless in the rest of the world, though.”

“You’ll get your sight—”

“Yeah, you said,” she snapped. “And maybe I will, but maybe it’ll take weeks, who knows? What’m I supposed to do? I need to go grocery shopping, and before you tell me to have them delivered, I  _ know _ , we’re in quarantine anyway, that’s not the  _ point _ .” She got a glass from the cupboard and set it down with a thunk. 

“Don’t worry,” he said, and she turned to face the sound of his voice. “I’ll wear one of those harnesses for seeing eye dogs.”

“Funny. But eventually you have to go on with your life, back to work, back to wherever you live—” She stopped, hating herself for the bitterness in her voice. She let out a breath. “I appreciate your help, you being here, but I’m not your responsibility. I can’t live my life being a burden.”

“If our situations were reversed, would you think of it as a burden to help me?”

She felt a flare of anger that she knew was irrational. He didn’t deserve to have her frustrations taken out on him, but there was no one else around. “I have to  _ work _ ,” she said. “I can’t just walk away from my career and fly off to a cornfield.”

Instead of defending himself or his choices, he said, “What do you want to drink? I’ll get it.”

She turned and fumbled for the glass, almost knocking it off the counter before managing to get her hands around it. She snatched it up and threw it blindly toward the sink. She regretted it as soon as it left her fingers, before she heard it shatter. She stood, stunned and alarmed by her own rage. 

“Jesus,” he said softly. “Don’t move, there’s glass all over the floor. Where’s the broom?”

Her hands were shaking. The anger was still simmering in her gut, but mostly she felt guilt, shame, and fear. “Did anything hit you?” she asked, and her voice was trembling, too.

“No. Here, let me take your arm and I’ll help you—”

She pulled away from his touch because she didn’t deserve his help or comfort. She was acting like a petulant child, screaming and crying about the unfairness of the world when she knew that she was lucky. She was lucky to be alive, she was lucky to have friends willing to help in her time of crisis, she was lucky to have a son who needed her. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, running a shaky hand over her face. “I don’t know why I did that.”

“The doctor said mood swings are normal,” Barba said. “Please, Liv, you’re making me nervous, I won’t touch you but please move this way further from the—”

“I’ll clean it up,” she interrupted. “It’s my mess.”

“I’m here to help you,” he insisted. “Until you get your sight back—”

She made a strangled sound of frustration and reached out, pushing past him to head toward the living room. She choked back the angry words clogging her throat, reminding herself that he didn’t deserve them. “Broom’s between the refrigerator and the wall,” she muttered, leaving him behind as she made her way to the sofa without breaking anything else. 

She sat on the couch and listened to the sounds of him sweeping up the glass and dumping it into the garbage, and cleaning the shards out of the sink. She wanted to cry but the tears wouldn’t come. She was trapped somewhere between anger and despair, unsure which was more self-destructive and unhelpful.

She heard Barba lean the broom back into the space beside the refrigerator and walk toward her. She wanted to run and hide but there was nowhere to go. She couldn’t cower in the bedroom for the rest of her life, and she couldn’t shut out the best friend she had. The last thing she wanted was to drive him further from her life now that he was back within her physical reach. 

“May I sit?” he asked.

“Sure,” she said, fidgeting with the flannel covering her thighs. 

He sank slowly onto the sofa beside her. “You’re right, maybe you won’t get your sight back.”

She turned her head toward him in surprise, her heart stumbling at his words. “What?”

“I’m not helping you by constantly spewing false optimism. I didn’t want to upset you but you said it yourself, I’m a pragmatist. And the fact is, the doctor doesn’t know. No one does. You might be blind forever, and the sooner you figure out how to navigate the world that way, the better. Next time, you can sweep up your own mess. And who knows how long this fucking pandemic will have our city under lockdown? With as stupid as half of this country is, it could be years. Noah might need to be homeschooled. Lucy can probably help you out but who knows how long you’ll be able to pay her and rent on your pension if you can’t work.”

“Barba.” Her heart was slamming in her chest. She couldn’t see but it felt like the room was reeling around her. 

“Nothing will ever be the same. Your life as you knew it? Over. Time to adjust and—”

“Rafael,” she said, unable to keep the panic from cracking her voice. She grabbed his arm to ground herself, but she couldn’t seem to catch her breath. She knew that he was only being logical—doing as she’d asked, in fact—but hearing the words made her realize that she had no control over her future. She wanted to believe she would find a way to adapt and provide for herself and her son, but the truth was she wasn’t confident. She was terrified that this was a challenge to which she could not rise, and there was too much at stake for her to fail.

“It’ll probably be okay. You’re smart, resourceful, hardworking.”

She barely heard him over the roar of blood in her ears. If even Barba had lost faith in her ability to fight—

She felt her face crumpling and lifted her hands, covering her face as the dam finally broke and the tears spilled over her cheeks. There was a sob trapped in her chest. She tried to swallow it but it bubbled up into her throat and escaped, sounding raw and desperate as it hung in the air.

She barely felt his arm slide around her back but she turned to him instinctively, clutching blindly for something to hold onto. She grabbed fistfuls of his shirt and buried her face against his chest, unable to stop the wracking sobs now that the first had broken free. 

She cried for everything she’d potentially lost. She knew her tears were selfish and unproductive but she also knew, in a distant corner of her mind, that she had to grieve before she could move on. It wouldn’t happen immediately. There were too many adjustments that would have to be made, too many new things to learn and challenges to face, but eventually they would  _ need _ to be learned and confronted. There was no other option. She couldn’t simply give up and curl in a corner and let everyone else worry about her life. 

Her sobs finally lessened, and then her tears began to dry. She realized that he was stroking her hair, holding her without speaking, waiting for her to find her way out of the despair. He knew she would, and his faith in her was invaluable.

“You’re an asshole,” she mumbled against his shirt. She was glad she couldn’t see the mess she’d made. She was going to need to figure out how to do laundry sooner rather than later.

“I was going to suggest sending Noah away to school somewhere but I thought that might be pushing a bit too far.”

She laughed wetly and straightened slowly, swiping her hands over her face. “You’re right, I wouldn’t have bought that from you.”

He was silent for a few seconds. He’d drawn back his arms so only their legs were touching. “But you believed the rest of it?”

She sighed shakily. “Only for a minute,” she said. She sniffed, and heard a small scuffling sound as he turned to grab a box of Kleenex from the end table. She reached automatically, plucking out a tissue from the box he held in front of her. “Thanks.” She dabbed at her eyes and cheeks. “So you gave me the cheery optimism and the dose of doom. Now give me your honest opinion.”

“I have absolute faith that you’ll be fine,” he said. “I also think you’re allowed to cry and break things and yell about how unfair this is. Or tell me to leave you alone when I’m hovering too much.”

She put her hand on his leg. “Please don’t leave,” she said. “No matter what happens, promise me that you’ll always be a part of my life, Rafael, please.”

“That I can do,” he said quietly. “How’s your head? Do you need something?”

“I’m okay.” She sighed and shifted to settle back against the sofa. “I don’t want to think about never seeing Noah’s face again. Never seeing yours.”

“I’m only getting older and wrinklier,” he said. “Tomorrow we can make a list of things around the apartment that we can do to make life easier while we wait for your brain to start working.”

She laughed. “Thanks.”

“What’re friends for?” he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. “What do you want to eat? I’ll order contactless delivery.”

“Whatever you want,” she answered, but before he could say anything she added, “Actually I want Chinese. You know what I like. I’m gonna go get cleaned up. You can pick a movie that’ll be interesting for me to listen to.”

“Mm. So no subtitled foreign language films?”

“Not unless you want to read the whole movie to me.”

He chuckled and she heard him tapping on his phone as he pulled up a takeout menu. “I’ll find a musical,” he offered.

She got up and paused to make sure her legs were steady. She felt shaky from her crying jag, but she also felt  _ better _ . “Thanks.”

“Mmhm,” he said, clearly distracted by his phone.

“Rafa.” She knew he lifted his head to look at her, alerted by her tone. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” he said quietly. “Oh, and I got you something. On the coffee table, the end closest to you.”

“You got me something?” she asked, confused. She bent and felt for the edge of the table.

“Mm. Delivered while you were sleeping.”

Her fingers found soft fur and she almost recoiled before she realized that it wasn’t an animal. She felt gingerly at the plushness for a few seconds. “Is this...Are these slippers?” she asked, feeling the fresh sting of tears in her tired eyes.

“Fluffiest ones I could find with same-day delivery,” he agreed.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“You won’t be so grateful when you can see them. They’re hideous.”

“Thank you,” she repeated, although the words were inadequate.

* * *

The headache came and went over the next two days. The more active she was, the worse her head tended to throb. She knew the doctor had told her to rest and take it easy, but she couldn’t lounge around doing nothing. With Barba’s help, she cleaned and organized Noah’s room, and set about learning how to find what she needed without sight. She learned the different shapes and sizes of the medicine bottles in the cabinet so she could tell the difference without asking for help. She learned how to program the coffee pot and how to enable text-reading on her phone.

There were a million little details, but instead of overwhelming her, she felt better with each task she managed to master. As much as she missed Noah, she knew she was lucky to have this time to adjust and prepare before he came home. If she was still blind, at least she would be better equipped to take care of him and their needs.

And she owed a debt to Barba that she could never repay. Having him around constantly made her realize how much she liked his company, how much she’d missed seeing and talking to him every day. 

There were a lot of things that they needed to discuss, things that had nothing to do with her injuries or the state of the world. She needed to broach the conversation before their quarantine was up, too, or she was afraid he might slip away—back to whatever life he’d been trying to build for himself since leaving the DA’s office. 

Shortly after lunch, she went to take a nap. Her body was easily tired, and she knew it was better to rest than to risk getting angry about something stupid and taking it out on Barba. Her head was thudding, though, and her new worries about what might happen once Barba was no longer required to stay locked up with her made it impossible for her to sleep. After twenty minutes of tossing and turning, she pulled out a bottle of pills from her nightstand and dry-swallowed two.

The prescription was over a year old, and she wasn’t even sure the pills would work anymore. The bottle was still nearly full. 

* * *

“Liv?”

She blinked in confusion, swiping a hand over her face, trying to focus her eyes and thoughts. There was still nothing but darkness and her brain floundered, unable to make sense of anything. She heard a door opening and instinctively turned her head toward the sound.

“ _ Shit _ . Sorry. Fuck.”

She pushed herself up onto her elbows with her heart slamming in her chest, on high alert but still confused. The door closed too loudly and she flinched, barely resisting the urge to scramble away from the sound. Her brain had finally caught up to reality and the pieces were falling into place. She pushed herself all the way up and slapped an arm over her naked chest, unable to bite back the groan that rose up her throat. 

“I’m sorry,” she said. She cursed herself a hundred times over. She knew he was outside the bedroom door, and her delayed attempt at modesty was worthless. The damage had been done.

“Jesus,  _ I’m _ sorry,” he countered in a low voice, and she could practically see him standing out there with his head tipped toward the door and his fingers tented against the wood. “Are you…okay?”

“I took some sleeping pills,” she admitted. She didn’t like the fuzziness of her thoughts, or the slowness of her reflexes. “I shouldn’t’ve, I don’t know…” She trailed off, sitting on her bed in nothing but her panties, trying not to let the embarrassment consume her. 

“Alright,” he said from the other side of the door. “Do you need anything?”

“Time machine?” she suggested.

He made a small sound that might be an attempt at a laugh. “I meant like water, or…a bathrobe.”

She laughed in spite of herself and dropped her forehead into her hand. “I always assumed I’d be conscious the first time you saw me naked,” she said. The words had slipped past her lips before she could examine them. She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyelids. 

“That would be my preference.”

She raised her head. Her stomach fluttered nervously.

“I’m sorry,” he said immediately. “That was inappropriate. I’m sorry, Liv.”

“Well.” She scrubbed her hands over her face. “I started it. What time is it?”

“Almost six. I came to say dinner’s ready but you didn’t answer, and I thought…I just—”

“It’s not your fault. I took some—I already said that. Anyway I got too hot.” She didn’t think it was necessary to spell the rest of it out. Clearly she’d taken off most of her clothing before passing out on her bed. She tried to remember what position she’d been in upon waking—tried to figure out what he’d seen—but her thoughts wouldn’t organize. “Six? How long…”

“You’ve been in there a few hours. I didn’t want to wake you but I was worried. Sorry—you can go back to sleep and I’ll just reheat dinner whenever—”

“No, no. No, I’ll be out in a minute. Just let me figure out where my clothes are,” she added in a mutter. “This is not the way I was going to start this conversation.”

“What conversation?” 

“I didn’t know you were still standing out there.”

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll be out in a minute.” She listened for the sound of his footsteps moving away from the door, and then she fumbled around until she found her discarded clothes on the bed. She got dressed slowly, considering how she wanted to proceed. She felt a little hungover, and if she were advising someone else she would recommend not making any big decisions or declarations until she was in a more stable frame of mind.

But the truth was, she didn’t know if her  _ life _ was going to be stable in the near future, and some things needed to be said. It might be better to explore their feelings while it was just the two of them in the apartment. 

She pulled on the slippers he’d bought for her and stepped out of the bedroom. Her stomach rumbled at the smell of food, but she ignored her hunger for the moment. She paused, listening, and heard him coming out of Noah’s room. He’d been sleeping on the sofa, but he kept his luggage in the bedroom to make sure it was out of the way.

She turned toward him. “Sorry about that,” she said with a gesture toward her own room. 

“I’m sorry I walked in without permission. I, um...didn’t really see anything—”

“Come on, you know I can always tell when you’re lying,” she said, moving carefully closer. “It’s okay. I always figured we’d eventually see each other naked.” She heard him inhale. “I didn’t mean to spring it on you, though.”

“At the risk of falling back into that—What did you call it? Misogynistic schoolyard logic?—I’ll just say you’re not hearing any complaints from me.”

She smiled and reached out a hand to touch his shirt. It was soft, just a little fuzzy against her fingertips. “Is this the pink sweater?”

“It’s coral.” He paused. “How’d you know that?”

“It feels exactly how I imagined it would.”

“How often did you imagine that?”

“I’ve seen you wear it three times.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

“Doesn’t it? And can I mention how attractive it is that you’re secure enough in your masculinity to wear this?” 

Another pause. “Wearing pink undermines my masculinity?”

“I thought you said it was coral.”

“It might be closer to salmon.”

“Of course it doesn’t. I’m saying I’m glad  _ you _ realize that. What’s between coral and salmon?”

“Peach? So…you  _ like _ the sweater?”

She ran her hands over his shoulders, down his arms. “Yes. It’s very soft…”

“If you wanted to touch it, you could’ve just said so.”

“You could’ve offered.”

“Hmm. I really should ask more people to touch my clothes.”

“I’d prefer it was only me.”

“You want exclusivity with my sweater? Got it. Done.” 

She could hear the hesitation, the uncertainty, lurking beneath his light tone. She settled her hand against his chest, fingering gently at the soft fuzz of his shirt. “I’ll settle for the sweater if that’s all you’re able to offer.” She heard his breath stop, felt the little hitch beneath her hand. A moment later she heard the click of his throat as he swallowed. 

“Never settle for less than you deserve.”

“You take plea deals all the time.”

“Only as a last resort.” He paused. She could hear his breaths, could feel the rise and fall of his chest against her fingers. “Are we negotiating? Because I’m prepared to offer you anything…”

“Everything?”

“Everything of me you want,” he said, the words little more than a whisper. 

“Can I touch your face?” She lifted a hand toward his jaw, her fingers hesitating in the air.

“You’re curious about the beard, aren’t you?” He reached up and touched his fingers to the back of her hand, guiding it gently toward his face. 

She felt the stubble against her fingertips and smiled. “Actually, I can smell your aftershave in the morning.”

“Didn’t want to upset you—I know how much you loved the beard.”

“I didn’t hate it,” she allowed. “But mostly it’s just you I love. Beard or no beard.” She cupped her palms to the sides of his face and slid her thumbs over his prickly chin until she felt the corners of his mouth. He wasn’t moving, wasn’t breathing. She leaned toward him and hesitated. “I can’t see your expression,” she murmured. “Is this okay?”

She felt his cheeks flex outward against her palms and the corners of his lips tilt upward beneath the pads of her thumbs. Even without sight, his smile was beautiful. “Yes,” he breathed. 

“I’m just gonna…aim between my thumbs,” she muttered, and he was laughing quietly when her lips found his in a soft, tentative kiss. She mostly caught his lower lip. His cheeks shifted against her hands as he adjusted. His lips were soft and receptive, his hand feather-light at her waist.

For a moment, her desire to see him was so powerful that it made her chest ache with the unfairness of it all, of being here with him and not being able to see the crinkles around his eyes and the soft curve of his mouth and the sparkle in his watchful gaze. The gray peppering the stubble across his jaw. The little swoop of hair hanging onto his forehead.

She couldn’t see him with her eyes, but she knew every line of his face, every freckle on his nose and fleck in his eyes. She’d never before kissed him and yet the taste of his lips was familiar, comforting. The scent of his cologne surrounded her like an embrace.  _ He _ surrounded her, even while they were barely touching, and she knew that she would never be safer than she was with him. 

He hummed quietly against her lips and desire flared in her belly. She pressed closer, felt his fingers press more firmly against her waist as his mouth opened to hers. His words echoed in her ears:  _ everything of me you want _ . 

She wanted all of him, and she always had. She’d been too afraid of losing his friendship to ever admit that she wanted more, but now? Now she knew that it was worth the risk, that it  _ had _ to be worth the risk, because spending every minute of every day in an apartment with him had only made her realize that she didn’t want him to leave. Not ever. She wanted to smell his aftershave in the morning, his cologne on her sheets, she wanted to hear him sipping his coffee, to hear him singing quietly in the shower when he apparently thought she couldn’t. 

She reached over his shoulder, waving her hand in the air, and he turned his face away to laugh. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t remember where we are,” she said, and he laughed harder, sliding his arm around her. “Where’s the wall?”

He took a few steps backward, stopping when her fingertips brushed the wall. She put her hands on his chest and pushed him back, smiling at his soft grunt when she flattened him against the surface. 

She kissed him again. Maybe her mouth was drawn to his, or maybe he met her partway, but her lips found his and she leaned into him. She made a sound in the back of her throat when his tongue met hers, tentatively at first and then with more confidence when he felt the eagerness of her response. She fumbled for the bottom of his sweater, wanting to get her hands inside his clothes. She couldn’t get close enough; she wanted to feel all of him. 

“Liv,” he breathed, breaking away from her kiss. 

“I want this,” she assured him. “I want you. I promise I’m thinking clearly.”

“Olivia. The doctor said not to overexert.”

“Then you’ll just have to do most of the work.”

“That’s not what I mean,” he said softly. He cupped his hands to her face. “I mean you’re hurt, and worried about your future, and I don’t want to be a regret, and I certainly don’t want you to ever feel like I took advantage of you or the situation.”

“There’s no one I trust more than you, Rafael. But if you don’t want to do this—”

“I’ve thought about this moment more times than I’d care to admit,” he interrupted quietly. “But when we’re finally together, I want to be damn sure you know it means something to me. I want you to know that I love you. That I’ve always loved you.” He brushed the pad of his thumb over the corner of her lips. “That I want to fall asleep beside you every night. I’m not asking to have that conversation now, I’m only—”

“I can’t ask you to commit to me when we don’t know what my life is going to be or if I’ll ever see again, but I want that, too. To wake up beside you every morning.”

“Commit?” He leaned forward and she felt the soft puff of his breath against her lips. His hands were on her face, his fingers in her hair. “I was committed before I saw you naked,” he murmured.

She laughed in surprise and he kissed the sound from her lips. “You do have an advantage there,” she said after a moment. 

“Hm.” He kissed her lips again before gently steering her backward a step. “I’ll be right back,” he said, and she felt his lips brush lightly against her forehead before he disappeared from beneath her hands. 

She heard his quick footsteps, and a zipper from somewhere in Noah’s room, and then he was on his way back to her. She held out a hand. As soon as her fingers brushed the front of his sweater she grabbed him and pulled him in for another kiss, smiling when he laughed softly against her mouth. 

“Hold that thought,” he said, pulling away again. She couldn’t figure out what he was doing by the sounds, but in just a few seconds he’d stepped back into her space. “Here,” he said, taking hold of her wrist and bringing her hand up to his face. She traced her fingers up his cheek and felt soft, slick silk near his temple. She ran her fingers along the length and finally understood.

He’d blindfolded himself with one of his ties. 


End file.
